skuldafn
by DragonsDeadAndDancing
Summary: Being a monster doesn't mean you can't love. Being a hero doesn't mean to feel no fear. Being an enemy doesn't mean you can't be a friend. (And vice versa.) Stories about truth, fear, and (ultimately) doors.
1. truth

_AN: This is a series of non-chronological, uh, let's call them stories, which consist of two stand-alone pieces and three continued series (what's the plural of that?) of several parts each. It might seem a bit confusing, but that's intentionally. Please, I need feedback, only my OC is mine._

truth

Esbern heard the clanking of Delphine's armour his fellow Blade came near. Just as he looked up from his book – _Annals of the Dragonguard_ – she threw a page of parchment on his desk. The old Breton picked it up, squinting with near-sighted eyes at the almost intelligible handwriting. "What's that?"

Delphine sounded bitter as she said: "The truth about your friend."


	2. visitor

visitor

Esbern at first didn't know what had woken him but immediately rose with creaking bones from his bed. His joints protested as he straightened and listened anxiously.

Knocking.

Knocking on _his_ door! Nobody should be knocking at his door, he lived in the Ratway for a reason after all.

Decades of training drove away the haze of sleep and replaced it with healthy paranoia. Esbern approached the door cautiously, slid the cover from the small window and peered through. A tall figure was standing outside, face hidden in the shadow of a mage's hood.

"Who's there?" asked Esbern.

"A friend. I am looking for Esbern." The accent was strange. Esbern knew that tune from somewhere.

"Esbern?" he answered. "I don't know an Esbern. Ask Knjakr next door."

A hint of impatience coloured the visitor's voice as he said: "I was sent here by Delphine. Where were you on the last of Frostfall?"

"What?" It couldn't be…

"Frostfall the thirtieth. Open the door, Breton. The Thalmor are everywhere in the Ratway."

"You could be one of them!" Esbern hadn't survived that long by just believing every stranger who knocked at his door.

"Both of us know Delphine would rather die than betray you even under torture. Now, if you would be so kind…"

Esbern closed the small window again and began to undo the seven locks, five bolts and the iron bar that kept his door safely shut. It was hard work, but after squeezing his thumb painfully a few time the door swung open to admit the visitor inside. As soon as the tall man had entered, Esbern bolted the door again.

He paled as the visitor pushed his hood back.


	3. fear

fear

The floor still bore the marks the caught dragon's claws had cut deep into the stone. It had been almost two weeks since it had flown away again, bearing all the world's hope on its back. Balgruuf carefully avoided the long gouges when he walked to the edge of the Great Porch. The braziers to his left and right let smoke rise to the sky but couldn't light up the night rising before him like something solid.

He almost didn't hear Irileth as she stepped next to him. As usual her face betrayed no emotion. For a while they just stood, staring out on the darkness-covered plains.

"Do you think he's won?" he asked his housecarl.

Irileth didn't hesitate before saying: "We are still alive, my lord. Whether Alduin is just delaying the end or if the Dragonborn reached his goal I cannot say."

A typical elven answer. The Jarl smiled. "I think I will retire-"

"My Jarl!" a guard shouted. "I couldn't stop him…"

Irileth drew her sword at the figure stumbling toward them. The man was covered in dried blood and hardened mud, wearing torn clothes. Somewhere in the grime-covered face two eyes shone, wide like a startled deer's with fear. When the Dunmer took a step in his direction he suddenly raised a hand in defence. He lost his equilibrium and fell to the ground. "No…" whispered a cracked, dry voice. "Please, stay away, stay away, I can't…"

And Balgruuf suddenly recognized the man.


	4. scream

scream

Altmer were superior, both to the races of mankind and to the lesser mer, let alone the beastfolk. Superior magic, superior intelligence, superior culture, superior nature.

_But surely even superior creatures are entitled the right to scream?_ Thalendar wondered when he peered over the edge. Far below him his once golden eyes spotted the floating dragon priest who (_which?_) answered his glance with burning blue orbs filled with malice. Thalendar didn't have to hear the snarling curses from the undead's mouth to know it was swearing in mangled Dovahzul. Granted, it had just been thrown by the Altmer's Shout from Skuldafn's topmost level and had hit the ground hard enough to lose some of the dull bronze scales that covered the ancient corpse. His eyes squeezed to thin slits, Thalendar watched as the dragon priest floated slowly to the entrance of the temple.

The Altmer flinched as something clattered on the worn stones beside him: arrows, old but still serviceable, crafted millennia ago by the ancient Nords whose corpses were shooting at him with them. He had rushed past the undead hours before, tricking them with spells and Shouts and speed. Thalendar's legs were still trembling with effort and, although he would never admit it loud, fear when he just thought about it.

He turned abruptly, muscles aching under tight skin, and took a few steps in the shadow of the highest platform. Skuldafn was built as a pyramid, gigantic levels over one another till one stepped out and saw a platform surrounded by spires on which dragons perched. _Had_ perched. The sickening stench of their burnt bodies was still hanging in the air. Four new souls had Thalendar gathered this day, two just after Odahviing had left him, two when he'd stepped out of the gloomy temple into the starry night.

It was day now, almost noon, and the sun stood high and mighty in the sky. Thalendar let himself fall on the ground in the thin line of shadow provided by the platform. It was better than nothing. There would've been more sheltering darkness in the tower built to the side of Skuldafn, but he wouldn't go in there if his life-

He would. If it would be his only chance to stay alive, he would retreat again into the tower. If it would be his only chance of survival he'd press himself again into the small space under the wooden stairs as the ancient walls of sturdy stones trembled like paper in the wind evoked by gigantic wings. He'd watch once more as scorch marks and ice crystals formed on the walls, as the material would warp and crack and melt under the twin assault of fire and ice from the maws of the two guardian dragons.

The sun rose, seemingly slow, and some rays unerringly met with the very tips of Thalendar's fingers. He quickly pulled them back as if burned, leaning closer to the walls. The Altmer sighed as he felt the cold smooth stone on his cheek. _How can Skyrim be so cold and so hot at once?_ he wondered but gave himself the answer. As a child of the Summerset Isles where summer ruled eternally he was not used to the cold, yet as a … a … the word was still hard to think.

In hindsight, he should have known better. The Altmer had felt the symptoms after all, but he was as usual rushing past and forth through the province, no time for such secondary issues as his heath while the world threatened to end. He'd received General Tullius' agreement to the peace treaty and then, a few hundred meters outside of Solitude, Thalendar heard the too-familiar sounds of battle. When he followed them, he saw two Vigilants fighting against a vampire and intervened in the mortal's favour. As soon as the beast was slain he'd taken his leave without another word, heading with long strides for Windhelm. And then there were the negotiations in High Hrothgar, and then all the dragon-catching … he could remember that he hadn't felt well. On his way to and from Dragonsreach he must have passed the shrine of Talos a dozen times but as a loyal citizen of Summerset his pride had been too great to bow his head to a false god of the mortals. There had simply not been enough time to visit the temple of Kynareth.

Then it had been too late. Atop Skuldafn, amidst a whirlwind of ice and flames, he'd felt a pain like nothing experienced before. Thalendar had been sure he would die as the agony raged in his whole body, and he had. That he realized first – the sudden absence of his heartbeat, the lack of desire for drawing breath. It took him some time to find the reason for the changes, and he'd almost have screamed then, furious at his own stupidity and overcome with fear. His long, sharp teeth had penetrated the worn leather of his gauntlet as he bit on it to keep from swearing, or crying, or praying, because he hadn't been sure if he would ever stop again.

His gauntlets were torn and scorched anyway, the leather cracked under magic and weapons. It was almost useless now. The rest of his gear wasn't faring better. The enchantments of his ragged robes were barely active anymore, just when he would need it dearly. Thalendar had little magic left and carried only two physical weapons: an orcish bow and the dwemeri dagger with the frost enchantment he'd picked up Auri-El-knew-where. And his Shouts. Oh yes, he still had his Shouts. _Great._

Thalendar sighed when he finally heard the sound of a metal door opening. He stood up, brushed some of the dirt off his robes – not that it improved much – and murmured a fire spell as he turned to face his undead enemy.


	5. illusion

illusion

The Altmer smiled amused at the Breton's raised hands. "Oh please. I think we had already made this point clear. I am not here to drag you into one of the Thalmor's torture chambers. As I have told you before, Delphine has sent me to bring you to her. Believe me or not, we are being hunted at the moment and I suggest you gather your necessities for an immediate departure."

Esbern reluctantly lowered his arms. "The Thalmor are here, you say?"

"_Yes_."

"Ah, let me take a few things … _The Oblivion Crisis_? No, Delphine surely has at least one exemplar … _Rising Threat_ could be useful." He shoved volume one, three and four in his pack and began searching for the second book when he heard polite coughing behind him. Esbern turned and looked at the Altmer questioningly.

"Do you not hear that?" asked the elf.

The old Breton concentrated. He was half-deaf, but if he focused enough … shouts and cries. "The Thalmor?" At his visitor's nod, Esbern stopped his preparations with a sigh and walked to a hole in the floor. Slowly he lowered himself in the room under his. The High Elf followed him.

Salvianus, the occupant of the cell, started to scream as he spotted the Altmer but Esbern grabbed the veteran by his thin arms. "Salvianus, he's not an enemy."

The visitor ignored the half-mad Imperial, opened the door of the room and looked out. "They are coming," he said quietly. With a murmured spell he conjured a flame atronach which he left standing outside the door. Then he prepared another, an orb of reddish swirling light hovering over his right palm. As a flash of gold entered their line of sight, he released the spell and the female Thalmor started to attack her companions with a feral growl. The visitor threw the door shut, but the sounds of the fight still reached them.

Meanwhile, Esbern tried to hold Salvianus back, but the madman's strength was too much for the old Breton. "No, you can't be here! You're all dead! I already killed you over and over!" The veteran stormed out of the door, which the visitor opened for him, then threw it shut again.

"Why didn't you stop him?" whispered Esbern furiously.

Cold, golden eyes studied him for a moment. "Better him than us."

"You…you…" In his whole life Esbern had never done anything so calculated, cold-blooded as sending a man who couldn't even comprehend the situation to his certain death. "I-" A loud, delighted scream cut him off. "That would be Knjakr, I suppose."

"I already had the pleasure." As the sound of an explosion shook the walls, the visitor opened the door once more and conjured a new fire atronach. Only then did he cast another spell: detect life. Esbern followed his example, but all he saw were a few flickering, guttering orbs of weak light lying on the ground without moving.

The visitor had already left Salvianus' room, his eyes scanning the scorched walls and burnt bodies, stepping over the dead and dying forms of friends and foes alike.

Esbern walked over to one corpse, recognizing the remains of long greasy hair as Hefid's. He'd liked that woman.

"Are you coming?" asked the visitor's impatient voice.

"This isn't over," Esbern murmured with one last look at Salvianus' burnt face.

"I fear so as well," answered the visitor.

Damn these elves and their pointy ears.


	6. lies

lies

"Read it to me," Esbern said. "My eyes are too weak for these scribbles."

"Oh, I don't even need the page anymore," Delphine answered, her voice bitter and hard. "It seems our friend has been quite an accomplished member of the Thalmor."


	7. pain

pain

Thalendar reluctantly limped to the portal to Sovngarde at the pace of an injured mud-crab – not that he could move any faster even if he wanted to. Each step was accompanied by hundreds of different pains all over his body, from the sun's sting on his exposed skin to the bite mark on his hand where a conjured familiar of which the dragon priest had gained control had bitten him, to burns and bruises left over from his earlier fights with the dragons. In his aching side dozens of small shards of stone, courtesy of a spell that had luckily hit the wall next to him or he'd have a hole in his chest, were tormenting him whenever he thought he needed to draw breath. The dragon priest's ornate staff – an ugly, tacky, _heavy_ piece of metal humming with enchantments – was probably the only thing that kept him on his feet, as Thalendar needed it to support his every step.

_It's almost over_, he reminded himself as he fitted the staff with a click into the small hollow in the ground_. Almost over_ as his knees gave way. _Almost over_ as he crawled into the portal. _Almost over_ as he collapsed into the cool dewy grass and closed his aching eyes_. Almost…_

Then he felt the wind of giant wings above him.


	8. fury

fury

The Altmer led Esbern through the Ratways, occasionally using his magic against the many enemies that lurked in the sewers. When they emerged into the Flagon, the old Breton was stunned to see most of the patrons avoiding their gaze. Here the Altmer walked with – if possible – more cockiness than before. An aura of … unstoppabilty, of confidence and power seemed to surround him. Even the bouncer, a scarred, hard man, stepped out of their way.

"Illusion magic," explained the Altmer cheerily as they left the foul-smelling cistern again. "One of the most underestimated schools of magic in my opinion, yet the most useful. Now, we are almost out of the Ratway. My plan is to bring you to Riverwood as fast as possible, though I have to make a quick stop in Whiterun and check on a few things. Are you fine with this, Esbern?"

"Yes," answered the Breton, surprised by his companion's sudden chatter. "Although … come to think, I still don't know your name."

"Thalendar," was all the Altmer said. By then they had already reached the door to Riften. Blinking in the foggy twilight, Esbern tried to regain his orientation. He'd spent too much time in the Warrens, he feared.

"What are you waiting for?" asked Thalendar, who had already crossed the canal and was halfway up the rickety wooden stair, the steps slick with condensation. "Night will fall in an hour or two, and then travelling will be safe. We have no time to waste."

Esbern bit back another sharp comment and moved his creaking body. His joints were already complaining about all the exercise they'd been forced to do, and they were still hours from Riverwood.

He avoided people's glances as he hurried behind the Altmer to the gates. The High Elf had hooded his face again – something not uncommon in the City of Thieves. What was uncommon, however, was a Khajiit on the streets. For a single moment, Esbern forgot his training and stared at the feline in curiosity.

And all of a sudden, she attacked him, hissing threats as her dagger swept toward him.

Thalendar reacted even faster than Esbern, grabbed the Khajiit and pulled her away from the old Breton. He received her blade in his left arm as he tried to wrestle the spitting, thrashing woman to the ground. With a loud scream he tore free of the dagger and sent a lightning bolt in the Khajiit's body. She twitched violently, then laid still.

For the first time, Esbern saw any real emotion on Thalendar's face, and was stunned by the violent change. The Altmer's gritted teeth were exposed by lips that had withdrawn into a ferocious snarl, his eyes were narrowed to slits and his right hand was gripping the bleeding wound on his left arm so hard his knuckles turned white. And then, within a moment, Thalendar relaxed. He murmured a quick spell, then took his hand from the wound the Khajiit's dagger had left. Esbern couldn't see it exactly, but it had at least stopped bleeding, if not healed completely.

The Altmer took another second to examine the torn, stained sleeve, then shook the blood off his hand with such a careless gesture as if he was shooing a fly away. "Come," he said to Esbern and turned to the gates again. When the Breton didn't follow, he gripped his left elbow painfully. The old man could feel the blood that still clung to the mer's hand soak his own clothes. "I will not suffer such an incident again," hissed Thalendar in a low voice next to Esbern's ear, and there was the tension again, expertly hidden behind a serene face but prominent in his fingers and in every word he uttered. "You, Blades, have failed more than once despite your training, over and over again, and for now I am the one in command and you will do as I say because I am all this world has, do you understand me?"

Esbern nodded and felt the grip relax ever so slightly. Without another word the Altmer dragged him forwards, flipping a few Septims to the guards at the gate. Outside, Thalendar increased his pace and Esbern had no choice but keep up, despite his groaning knees and protesting hips. Instead of following the road, the Altmer cut straight into the wilderness. As soon as they were out of the city's sight, he released the Breton and walked on without bothering to look for Esbern's condition.

Hour after hour, step after step, Riverwood came near. But far before it, exhaustion hit Esbern. "Thalendar," he called out, raising his gaze from the ground where he'd been looking for sticks and stones in the gloom of night in order not to break his old bones.

Of course he could no longer see his companion. With a sigh, Esbern spoke a spell for detecting life, but all he saw was a hulking mass of reddish glow not far away. That, he guessed, was not Thalendar.

For the first time in his life he wished he'd see a High Elf. He slowly moved away from the sleeping beast – a bear, he thought – careful not to make a sound to wake the animal from its slumber. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"There you are," said Thalendar furiously. "Can you not even keep up, you stupid old-"

A roar interrupted the High Elf. Through the shadows, a massive, lumbering beast came toward them with seemingly impossible speed for something so huge and heavy. Neither Thalendar nor Esbern had time for a spell, so Thalendar simply pushed the Breton aside, sending his thin bones rattling over stones and small bushes, just as the Altmer screamed a single word. A wave of pure power hit the bear and stopped it long enough for a green orb to touch the beast. It immediately calmed down, licking its muzzle in confusion.

This time, the fury and annoyance didn't leave Thalendar's face, and in the light of Masser and Secunda, he looked even more terrifying. Without a word, the Altmer helped the Breton to his feet and led him on, staying beside him and never keeping his eyes off his charge.

Dawn came late and pale, the sun seemingly as exhausted as Esbern himself. "We have almost reached Whiterun," said the Altmer next to him. He had stayed silent since the incident with the bear, but it seemed the knowledge that the city was near had raised his spirits again. "I suggest we stay there for the day and continue to Riverwood at dusk. Another day will hardly matter, I suppose."

Esbern had been wrong. The High Elf was as exhausted as the Breton, although it was only visible if he looked closely. There was a weariness in his eyes, a lack of strength in his steps, an expertly hidden sense of relief in his words.

For the first time, he seemed almost weak.


	9. change

change

Their offer came surprising for him. Thalendar opened his mouth, then closed it again. When he had thought about the appropriate words, he tried to speak once more: "I feel honoured by your offer, but I have walked my way alone, and I will not rely on others. Thank you."

"Why?" asked Gormlaith. "Why do you refuse the help of three mighty warriors who have fought Alduin before?"

"I have walked my way alone," Thalendar repeated.

"Why?" This time it was Hakon who asked.

"Others are not reliable. And I have never felt the wish for companions." The lie tasted bitter on tongue. Skuldafn … in Skuldafn he had _longed_ for somebody beside him, to face the dragons and the priest and the terror of the sun and the night and the darkness and the fear.

Felldir spoke at last: "Maybe it's time to change."


	10. home

home

Whiterun approached in yellow grass, yellow guards, yellow banners, yellow sunshine dancing on yellow skin. Thalendar hadn't pulled up his hood, instead even further down, but still the guards hailed him and nodded respectfully, called him 'Thane'.

'Thane'? That Altmer held one of the highest offices in Skyrim's politics? Esbern had no time to wonder about it as Thalendar increased his pace and the old Breton had a hard time keeping up on his aching feet. Not that they had to go far: Just after the city gates, past the blacksmith, Thalendar entered a small house. A frown appeared on the Altmer's face for some reason. As soon as Esbern had shut the door behind them again, the High Elf shouted louder than ever, except for the incident with the bear: "Lydia!"

Nobody answered them. Thalendar drew a deep breath and called again. "LYDIA!"

"Papa!" Two high voices screamed in delight, two small figures appeared from a doorframe, two girls hugged the tall Altmer although they barely reached his waist.

The following minutes were a storm of question – "How are you?" "Who hurt you?" "Does it hurt?" "Have you brought us anything?" "Who is that?" "Where have you been?" "How long do you stay this time?" "Can we go swimming in the afternoon?" – before Thalendar managed to say something himself.

"Daughters, while I do appreciate the warm welcome me and my companion Esbern have been travelling for quite a long time and need some sleep. Unfortunately we have to leave in the evening again. And please, remember what I have told you about? The time has come."

"Oh papa!" moaned the taller of the two girls, a Nord with dark brown hair that reached almost to the small of her back. "We don't want to stay in all day! It's so _boring_."

The Altmer laughed at that. "Girls, believe me when I tell you death is infinitely more boring than a few days at home. Where is Lydia, by the way?" A hint of an edge crept into his voice.

"She went to the market early for some fresh vegetables," answered the second girl, a tiny Imperial with hair of a dark blond and big blue eyes.

Thalendar sighed at that. "I'll have to talk to her thoroughly. She is my housecarl after all, has to follow my commands and guard what is mine. But where are my manners," again this sudden change, "girls, this is Esbern. For your own safety it is better if you do not know too much about him, although I do not doubt you will puncture him with question until he has as many holes as the walls of this city. Esbern, these two are my adopted daughters Sofie and Lucia."

The taller girl curtsied, a strange thing to see in a Nord girl, and elbowed her sister, who belatedly followed suit.

"Hmph." A scowl appeared on the Altmer's face, but he was clearly amused. "Your manners are still lacking, I see."

Just then the door opened and a tall Nord woman, clad in steel armour as if for battle, entered the house. "Oh," she said as she spotted the visitors and nearly dropped the packages in her arms, "my Thane, I'm sorry, I didn't know you'd be coming back to-"

"Enough, Lydia. This is Esbern. I will depart with him again at sunset. Until then, prepare him your bed and have a hot meal ready when we wake again. And," he said, his voice menacing, "I think I gave you quite clear instructions about your behaviour during my absence. Pray tell me, which part of 'Guard the children no matter the cost.' did you not understand?"

The poor woman bleached. "I'm sorry, my Thane, but I was just at the market to purchase some vegetables for lunch-"

"Yet the door was left unlocked," interrupted Thalendar. "As we depart, I will give you clear orders, and this time I will suffer no insubordinance, are we understood?"

"Papa," said Lucia, "don't be mad at her. She just forgot to lock the door."

"And anyone could have simply come in and snatched the two of you away." Thalendar raised a hand to cut off the protests of his daughters. "Enough now. Esbern and I have to rest. Lydia, get our guest some fresh garments and please try to stay out of my room while I am sleeping."

The Altmer briskly turned to the stairs but a tug of Sofie's small hand on the frayed rim of his robe stopped him. "Can you tell us a story first?" she asked shyly.

He smiled down at her. "A short one, but yes, of course." And there he went, his daughters trailing behind him.

"If you will accompany me…" said Lydia hesitantly.

"Yes, thank you very much," murmured Esbern, still staring after the small family. "Is he always so … so …"

"Contrary?" Lydia helped out. "Yes, it's strange. He usually treats me like I'm little more than a slave born to lick his boots, but when he's with the girls he's all the loving, doting father, if a bit queer when it comes to mannerisms. He's actually trying to raise them in the fashion of Alinor, can you imagine that?"

"Who are their parents?"

"Dead, as far as I know, or long gone. It's better this way. They both were orphan girls when he found them begging in Windhelm and Whiterun. He took them in, gave them a home, a person to adore and to call 'Father'. I do hate him occasionally for the way he treats me, but I know he can't act in any other way. He is absolute in everything he does, no half-measures. He either loves your or despises you."


	11. death

death

"This is the record of a list of captives to be executioned at the twenty-first of Last Seed this year. Among them, among Ulfric's soldiers and horse thieves, is a name both of us know too well.

"Thalendar was scheduled for execution on behest of the lovely Elenwen herself. The reason as recorded is the death of two other Justiciars, cut in halves by battleaxes, as the investigation had it. Lo and behold, Thalendar was found next to the bodies, smeared all over with crimson.

"Of course he denied his fault, said it had been conjured Daedra – Dremora – and of course nobody believed him when he said he'd managed to banish them before they could harm him. Elenwen needed an example – and look where he is now.

"We cannot … if he ever grows angry at us, it's the end of the Blades. He is a Thalmor, and the only reason the two of us are still alive is that he hates his own people more than us."


	12. help

help

Jenassa looked up from her ale as a heavy bag of coins was dropped on the table in front of her. She recognized the hooded Altmer vaguely – he'd been in the Drunken Huntsman a few times before, not sparing her more than a passing glance before tending to his business.

"Five hundred Septims. That is the usual month's fee for mercenary, is it not?"

"It is," she answered. "My blade is yours, sera. What would you have me do?"

The Altmer pulled a notebook from his pocket and showed it to her as he leafed through it: dozens of pages filled with narrow, elegant script.

Jenassa grinned. There was something about this man, something about his smile that excited her. "Well, sera, it seems we have work to do."

_AN: And off they go, dancing in the sunshine, the psycho girl and the vampire… To give this some semblance of order, now that you've read this: first (visitor, illusion, fury, home), (scream, pain, change) is at the same time as (truth, lies, death), then (fear) and finally (help). (visitor, illusion, fury, home) is what more or less happened with Thalendar as he came to rescue Esbern – I still hate him for attacking that bear _after_ I'd calmed that beast. scream is also entirely accurate – I did manage to have my Dovahkiin _become a vampire atop Skuldafn in the middle of a dragon fight_, and I really used to send him around all alone till these three horrible days._

_Skuldafn is the first part of a three-part series about Thalendar. The second part, which is more or less a collection of 54 100-word-one-shots about him is in-progress, Mor(t)ality will follow sooner or later._


End file.
